


Liberosis

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The desire to care less about things. (Tag for the Starkiller firing scene.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberosis

Kylo stands on the _Finalizer_. He won’t go down to the planet below. He won’t be there when the General gives his speech. He’s heard it enough times (Hux’s speeches, when he runs through them in his head, are so loud that Kylo can’t possibly block them out. He has to minimise his contact with the man when he’s got a particularly big presentation to give. Although Hux has a way with words, and his dedication to his cause is admirable, when you’ve heard the same phrase fifteen times as he works out the best way to deliver it, you start to question your own sanity, and his.)

He knows, then, what Hux is saying right now. Maybe he’s off by a beat or two, not sure precisely when it started. Like a holo where the sound and the image have become split by a fraction of a second, and the lips move apart when they should move together. Over and over. Louder and louder.

He wants it to work, he does. Hux. Hux does. He lives and breathes the Order, and he lives and breathes the destruction of both Republic and Resistance. He wants this in a way that borders on monomania, and Kylo… he… he should… agree. He should. He does.

He does.

Yes.

He wants an end to the Republic, but mostly to the Jedi. He wants a final line drawn in the sand, in the dunes of Tatooine, in the wastes of Jakku. He wants it to be _over with_. He wants it to be **done** , so he can rest at last.

He wants the pain to stop.

Down on the Starkiller, the amassed troops who aren’t needed for the skeleton-crew of a Star Destroyer are no doubt chanting and yelling in fervid bloodlust for a battle they can’t begin to understand. How could they? Ripped from their families before they knew enough to have a _name_. Their loyalty is that of a blaster, pointing and shooting where a hand turns it. Beasts of burden, not of reason. They’re trained in their hate, honed in their dedication, not allowed to _think_ for themselves. And really, how is the Order any better than the Jedi in that respect? Because they aren’t. If he didn’t have the Force, he’d likely be on the other side of the battle. But the Republic believes in freedom for the masses, and the Order believes in freedom for the Force-sensitives. And that’s really the crux of the matter. 

Slave one, to elevate the other. There has to be the ruled, for the rulers to exist. 

Still, was it worth it, really? His eyes stared at the blackness that was the majority of the galaxy. There was more that _wasn’t_ than **was** in the universe. More space, than thing. Even a body was mostly void. In the grand scheme of things, five planets was nothing. Nothing. It was just a small blip in the whole of space and time. It was nothing compared to what was, what is, and what would be. Five planets. Even the lives on them weren’t that numerous, right? 

Just five planets. Just the Hosnian system. Just the hub of hope, where so many species and so many people from so many backgrounds all met and tried to make things work for sentience and life as a whole. Even bloated and bureaucratic as it was, corrupt and filled with liars and cheaters and killers and fools… the initial idea…

_He closes his eyes, remembering listening to a voice he knew so well. A voice that explained how the first peace treaties were signed. How wars had erupted, and how the precarious balance they had now was–_

No.

Coruscant. A planet Kylo knows as well as any other. A planet he grew up around, if not always on. Things always spiral around the most massive, most influential body. Coruscant, a planet filled with lives. Glittering jewel. Vibrant and bright. The epitome of life itself: a tangle of hopes, dreams, hunger, desire, hate, love, laughter. Light and Dark. Lights that twinkled all the night through, a sky humming with motion. 

So many people there.

So many.

A button, a push, an order. They would be gone. Every life there, and on four others just the same. Burned to nothing. Even Alderaan was only one place, and only the _adoptive_ home for his mother. Without it, she’s been a stateless Princess. A woman with a home only in legislation and protocol, in the march onwards of _civilisation_. And they’re going to destroy it.

Kylo doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe any more than he has to.

**They are going to burn the heart of the galaxy before they are done.**

When will it be enough? Will it ever? Kylo keeps telling himself that all they need is Skywalker. The uncle-betrayer. The Jedi monster. The source of all his pain, the man who _couldn’t keep the angry thoughts at bay in the young boy, who couldn’t protect him from himself, who preached serenity into the eye of a hurricane, who didn’t understand that sometimes - sometimes - you could not help but **feel.**_

Kylo - **BEN** \- hadn’t wanted to feel as much as he did. He’d tried so very damn hard to be what he was supposed to be. He’d tried to force down the flickers of fear at leaving his mother behind, tried to pretend it didn’t hurt like a punch in the gut that kept landing over and over and over and over because Jedi were supposed to not feel. Or, if they did, it was supposed to be in _moderation_ , in **control**.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t control it, he never could. The voice, the voice, the voice THE VOICE THAT TOLD HIM THAT HE COULDN’T BE A JEDI, HE WAS TOO DARK, TOO ANGRY, TOO ALIVE, TOO BRIGHT, TOO VIBRANT. The voice that told him he would never please his family. He couldn’t do what they did. He could never bring peace like his mother, never skirt the edge of a blackhole like his father. He could never be an empty vessel like his uncle, could never serve the GOOD.

Over and over and over. Pain and love and want and need and anger and a fist that came too fast in his own defence. A terror and a swell of reaction to _anything_ that disturbed the calm. He could never be a Jedi never be a Jedi never ever ever be the thing they wanted and so he _might as well fall and they did this to you, Ben, they made you into this monster, they wanted you to not be you they wanted you to just be their doll their plaything their weapon of choice they didn’t care what you **wanted for yourself** they are the cause of all your agony it is the Jedi’s fault they all have to die they have to die they have to go and then you will be free to feel as you want and the pain will stop at last if you just **give in and kill them all there will be no more agony no more no more you will be at peace - not peace - control. Control control control control control you will have control you will have power you will be the new Vader you will be the one you will be the chosen one you are special Ben special you can do this you can kill them give in to your feelings you know you must you know you must then you will be safe and free and**_

# loved

.

The memory hits him hard, like it always does, and he fights to not react openly. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs, or slash through anything that will resist. Wants the agony he remembers and still feels TO GO. AWAY.

IT WAS MEANT TO GO AWAY.

IT WAS ALL MEANT TO _GO AWAY_.

# HE JUST WANTS TO GET HIS UNCLE BACK.

His uncle. That’s all. 

The Order can blow up five thousand planets, or none. Kylo will feel them, if they do ~~and he will hate it hate them hate them so much why are they doing this why is it always death why is it always the innocents who get hurt.~~

He wants it to go away.

Luke.

Luke will make it stop. Either in his death, or Kylo’s, at his hands. Kylo’s known not one night of peace since he became Kylo Ren. He’s felt no control, not really. It’s getting worse. Harder to keep himself from railing out at anyone just for _breathing in his presence_.

He wants it to stop.

Please.

Maker… _please._


End file.
